


International Incident

by cmshaw



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-22
Updated: 2002-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one expected anything to happen during Turnbull's appointment as temporary assistant interim associate Deputy Liaison Officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	International Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Never say never -- or, maybe, always say [never](http://cmshaw.livejournal.com/69226.html), since it appears to kick me in the head and make me write.

Fortunately, there was a knock at my door before I had worked myself into too much of a tizzy. I leapt up off of my sofa with alacrity and answered the door.

It was he; I realized as soon as I saw him that I had no idea how he should be addressed, so I said merely, "Hello."

"Hey," he said, and he leaned into the frame of my front door, hands in his pocket, and gave me a wry smile. "Can I come in?"

I stepped back automatically. "Of course," I said, and held open the door for him. When I turned around after closing and relocking it, he'd assumed his customary slouch on my sofa with his feet up on the coffee table. I found this reassuring, and relaxed a little.

He squinted up at me. "Guess you want to know what's going on," he said.

I thought about offering him refreshments, but he'd told me numerous times that he was perfectly capable of and comfortable with fetching his own potables from my kitchenette area, so instead I merely say beside him on the sofa and nodded. I wanted very, very much to know what was going on, but had been given no information at all, only orders to cease questioning the situation.

"So it's like this," he said now, half-sitting and half-lying on my sofa. "I would've told you before I went, but there was not any time at all. Hell of a rush job and my fingers are still crossed that they've really got all the paper trail clean, but -- I've gone undercover."

I blinked. He'd been called upon to perform various undercover jobs before during the approximately five months I had known him, but never as another police officer. "May I inquire as to why?" I asked cautiously.

He sighed. "You can ask," he said, "you can ask all you like, but I haven't got any answers for you." I looked away, just for a moment, in order to retain my composure. He put his hand on my knee. "No, what I mean is _I_ don't know. They pulled the guy formerly known as Vecchio off for some other job and it's all a big hack job if you ask me, but nobody's asking me."

That didn't seem quite right at all, but I said nothing. Perhaps Americans did things this way. I tapped my fingers nervously against my legs for a moment before I could force myself to stop. I didn't know these things -- I was clearly incompetent in the post of even temporary assistant interim associate Deputy Liaison Officer, or whatever the qualifiers were with which the Inspector had restricted the post when Constable Fraser had left on his vacation (and the fact that I ought to have but had not bothered to memorize my exact title only bore this out) -- I was, in fact, ratcheting myself up towards an unpleasant panic episode when I felt his hands clasp my face and turn my head.

"Hey," he said urgently, and he slapped my cheek lightly. "Hey! Earth to Ren, come in, Ren."

I hauled in a deep breath and blinked rapidly until the black spots cleared from my vision. I was met with a worried frown. "What--" I asked, and swallowed, and tried again. "What do I need to do?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing different. You've just got to call me by Vecchio's name in public, that's all. I mean, heck, we'll probably be seeing more of each other since I'll be in and out of the Consulate when, you know, Canadian things are happening. Or whatever. No one's really told me what this liaison job's all about, actually. You got any ideas for me?"

I shook my head. "I have no idea--" I caught myself before saying his true name. "What is Vecchio's -- your -- given name?"

He chuckled a little at that. "It's Ray, matter of fact. Isn't that easy to remember?"

"Ray," I said, and he looked at me and grinned.

"That's my name, so don't wear it out."

"'Wear it out'?" I said, concerned.

He waved his hand. "Nothing, never mind. I'm just being silly. You gonna be okay with this?"

My hands were running nervously over my pantlegs again. "Of course," I said. "It's just another job, correct?"

"Yeah--" he said.

I barreled on. "And Constable Fraser will be returning to his post on Monday. I'm certain that he'll be able to provide you with all of the information you require -- it's only the weekend, after all, and Canadians try not to become involved with foreign crime outside of business hours, surely --"

"You're babbling," he said, and his hand was cupping my jaw again. Warm fingers pressed against my lips and held them closed. "It'll be okay, Ren. I'll still be around, even if I'm going to be using a different name for a while."

"That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet," I murmured against his fingers.

He laughed out loud at that. "Don't you dare call me Rose," he said, and then I was laughing too, laughing and pulling him toward me and kissing his mouth with hungry desperation. For all that we worked in the same profession, I had hoped that we might never have cause to truly work together; I had too many irritated and frustrated criticisms ringing in my ears -- and in my permanent record -- for me to wish to allow someone whose respect I desired to see me fail in my duties. He and I had met through our work, but had grown to be friends and more through our off-duty interests. I pulled his shirt roughly off his shoulders and caressed his chest through his undershirt, leaned forward to allow him to remove my shirt in turn, and all the while I shook inside with the fear that soon he'd know, soon he'd find me out and want to leave me.

He pushed me down onto my back and popped open the fly of my pants. His hand felt burning hot as he reached into my underwear and clasped my erection firmly in his fist and began stroking me. I could only arch my back and grip his shoulders tightly, because both our position and his rapid lusty motions rendered me completely unable to reach more of his body. I tried to warn him through frustratingly incoherent noises that my climax was already approaching, but he shook his head at me and continued his devastatingly hard and fast stroke until I achieved my orgasm in his grip. His hand gentled then, and he bent down and pressed his lips to mine. He kissed me lightly, and after a breathless minute or so I was able to move again to return his kisses.

"Ssh," he said. "It's going to be okay. I'm not going anywhere. It's just another job."

I looked up at him and said, "Ray, I'm -- I'm not a very good Mountie."

He grinned and asked, "By whose standards?" Obviously, he didn't believe or didn't understand me.

"By objective standards," I said. "My performance reviews are bad --" and here he made a rude sort of noise intended perhaps to indicate a lack of respect for performance reviews -- "and Constable Fraser, with whom you'll be working closely, will undoubtedly inform you at great length of many reasons why I should be trusted with nothing more than secretarial duties."

He shook his head, but he'd stopped laughing. "Then this Fraser guy must be as big of a kook as everyone says--"

"But he's not," I interrupted him to insist. "He's unorthodox but tremendously successful--"

"_I_ trust you," he said, putting his hand over my mouth again. His fingers were sticky. That was my fault, but I began licking them clean. He smiled at me, a warm and private smile. "I trust you with a heck of a lot more than pushing papers," he said.

"I don't know the first thing about being a Liaison Officer," I confessed.

He grinned again. "Well, we can figure it out together then," he said, "but, you know, I think I like this kind of international relations a lot better than whatever's in the rule book."

I blushed, and laughed, and took him to bed. And perhaps I was bad at my job or perhaps I wasn't, but I was certainly highly skilled at some terribly important social interactions, or so the man known as Vecchio informed me in a hoarse and delighted voice approximately half an hour later. I decided that was compliment enough for me; we fell asleep in the inconstant moonlight with his head pillowed on my shoulder, and awoke much later in the dark to kiss again without words.


End file.
